Peak of Nothingness

There's something admirable about surviving. When you look at the kind of people who have made it through the ...

There's something admirable about surviving. When you look at the kind of people who have made it through the last few decades of music in one piece, it's hard to argue that many survived. I'm not referring to the ones who came out clean, or who learned their painful lessons of youth and chaotic growth. Actually, when I think of musicians like that (Brian Wilson, the Beastie Boys and Iggy Pop, to name just a few), they don't seem like real survivors to me. They just seem like they got old. And that isn't romantic, exciting or even evitable.

The survivors I love are the ones that made it this far in one piece-- the same piece they started with. How rare is it when an artist wields the same powers of persuasion and attraction twenty years down the road as they did when they made their big bang? There are always going to be diehards who support them through and through, and maybe there's something to be said of the personal connection an artist makes with his or her audience that could lead to such devotion. But, there is a school of thought that doesn't believe in that. Chiefly, the angels who are impervious to trend, age and metabolism are the ones that glow brightest for me.

Now, this is idealistic, narrow minded and deeply unfair. It's a plan destined to fail; so says nature. But I picked it up somewhere, and it's hard to let go. I can defend some artists using this aesthetic, or I can just say that I like them because of whatever, and leave it at that. I can defend Tom Waits in this way. I can defend Boredoms in this way, and theoretically, I can defend John Zorn in this way (I'm not sure I really believe he's still truly surviving, though he has certainly made it further than most). I can also defend KK Null in this way, and though I never have, it's easy enough.

Null started playing about twenty years ago, and began playing with his band Zeni Geva in 1987. They were a harsh, brutally intense band then. They still are, even though I don't always like everything they play. Null also releases solo albums, featuring his guitar, voice and other tools that are so often frustrating, disparate artistic statements that I really have to question why I'd ever consider him an admirable person. He isn't just making noise, but he isn't making friends, either. I can't get a handle on what he's doing all the time, even when I think it's beautiful (check A New Kind of Water, his collaboration with Jim O'Rourke if you suspect me, and why wouldn't you?). But he isn't less difficult now than he used to be. He hasn't lost the ability to change my mood. KK Null is as powerful an artist (not something inherently good or bad, but merely the basis of my dilemma, in this case) now as ever, and he shows little indication of burning out. Indeed, I admire KK Null for that.

Peak of Nothingness is at once the embodiment of its title, and an act of false humility. Null has packed away his guitar for the vacuum comfort of a laptop. His press release says "bleep core," which is as desperate a use to insert "core" into a genre as I've heard, especially considering that most of the time this album doesn't seem designed to purify or intensify (which is what I figure people mean when they append "core" to something) anything other than Null's interest in new composition. It isn't a record that I feel commanded to praise, though it's quite accomplished for someone who supposedly never made this kind of music before. But it is interesting, and it is something that strikes similar chords as when I first heard Zeni Geva. I want to hear more of him doing this, because I'm curious about where he'll turn, what mistakes he'll expose and what he might uncover along the way.

Two of the pieces on Peak of Nothingness are quite grating, at least comparatively speaking. The first track (none of these songs have names-- Null uses running times in lieu of titles here) lasts barely over a minute, and features very distorted panned sounds and a slowly building shudder in the left speaker. It almost sounds like some kind of interstellar tennis match, with perhaps someone playing "Atari Combat" in the background. It leads without break to the second track, featuring a non-wavering metronome pulse with an ultra-high sine wave over the top. The last track is more like the sound of a digital construction site, with constantly running generator and oscillating power drills. It's a lengthy piece of music, most likely improvised (as was about half of the album, apparently), and I'm hesitant to describe it as "industrial" because of conditioned musical connotations, though of course it is.

The remaining ten tracks are much softer, and often display subtlety for which Null is rarely credited. The third track brings back the sine wave and a few glitches every now and then, but these sound like real glitches-- i.e. mistakes, rather than strategically placed sputters and pops. Maybe this is the modern equivalent to ambient music. Or, maybe it's just a buzzing hum that means nothing. It's frustrating, and I like it. Track seven actually increases the volume (and static), and comes close to sounding like Fennesz, though Null has an even looser affiliation with melody than the Austrian.

The fourth track is little but a soft electronic pulse, which summons passive techno demons by virtue of its consistency, but almost certainly accidentally. Track five keeps the consistent patterns, but translates them as hypnotic, dimensional sinoids, spinning across the speakers. There's a little radio static to give the piece color, but it's quite an impressive use of space with a ridiculously limited palette of sound. Again, this record may not be essential listening, but small pleasures abound.

The only drawback with Null is that you never know if he'll ever return to this music again. There are so many ideas here, so many possibilities to explore, and yet I wouldn't be surprised if he was already beyond it. That said, laptops do seem to be the way of the world these days, and a vital artist rarely wastes an opportunity to make a statement on new toys. Of course, Null will probably survive one way or another.